


New Tricks (a.k.a. The Linen-Ruining Escapades of the Giant Man-Puppy and the Patron Saint of Denial, Part One)

by Trojie



Series: The Linen-Ruining Escapades of the Giant Man-Puppy and the Patron Saint of Denial [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Manhandling, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 01, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 00:24:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which calls are made to housekeeping, the management disapprove, check-ins are late and check-outs are later, and Dean likes to be manhandled but he'll always, always lie about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Tricks (a.k.a. The Linen-Ruining Escapades of the Giant Man-Puppy and the Patron Saint of Denial, Part One)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cosmonaught](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmonaught/gifts).



> S1 porn entirely without plot. *cough* Move along, nothing to see here! (THIS IS PORN FOR COSMONAUGHT, BECAUSE LATE-NIGHT AO3 COMMENT CIRCLEJERKS ARE LOVE, AND I MADE A PROMISE) Parts Two and onwards may or may not get written. Suggestions of other ways for the man-puppy and the patron saint of denial to ruin bedlinen are welcome!

It's one am, and the Winchesters are checking into a new motel.

Thank God the clerk was still at his desk, is all Dean can think. Because he has a really freaking pressing need to get laid tonight and he was really hoping not to have to do it in the Impala.

They thud against the door to their newly-rented motel room. There's a cheap, tarnished brass 7 digging into Dean's shoulderblade. Sam's got one hand down the back of Dean's jeans and the other's scrabbling with the key in the lock while he practically gnaws on Dean's collarbone, and Dean thuds his head back against the door over and over and tries really, really freaking hard not to come in his monster-blood-stained jeans. 

It's the adrenaline that means Dean doesn't kick Sam's ass for all this he-man crap. Okay, yes, fine, Dean has to face facts and Sam has three or so good inches of height on him. But that doesn't actually mean Dean couldn't beat the living crap out of him if he wanted to - Sam's got reach and height but Dean's got muscle-mass, stamina, and a fuckload more experience, given Sammy's been out of the game for four years. Plus Dean's older. He shouldn't be the one getting ravished like a Mills n Boon heroine against a skeevy motel door. 

Or on a skeevy motel floor, either, when Sam gets the fucking lock to give and they fall through said skeevy door. Sam's weight knocks all the breath out of Dean's lungs and all he can do is gasp up at his brother while Sam smirks, sweet and hot like burning toffee, and grinds into him. 

But they don't stay on the skeevy motel floor any longer than the skeevy motel door, because Sam basically scoops Dean up and half-fireman-carries him over to the nearest bed. 

These sheets are not an improvement. 

Sam buries one hand in Dean's hair and uses the other to strip his shirts off, then his pants. He settles like that, straddding Dean while Dean's naked and he's still wearing all his goddamn clothes, one hand pinning Dean's head and one pinning Dean's right wrist, and kisses him like that's all he's planning on doing tonight.

Dean wrenches his mouth free, but he lets Sam keep the wrist and the way he's stroking his fingers through Dean's hair, just so that he doesn't feel totally inadequate in the face of Dean's macho take-charge attitude. 'Dude, come on.'

'What?' Sam asks, innocently.

Dean rolls his hips up against Sam's, ignoring the scrape of the denim. It should feel uncomfortable, being naked while Sam's dressed, being pinned like Sam can just take his time at this regardless of how horny Dean is. It doesn't. 'Are we doing this or what?'

'We're doing this,' Sam says, grinning down at him. 'What's your problem?'

'Are we doing this _this century_?' 

Sam actually stretches, like a cat (not like a tiger, not like anything badass and powerful and graceful, no), and makes a soft, amused noise in the back of his throat when Dean's free hand starts working at his fly. 'Some of us like to take our time, Dean.' He starts to gently pulse his hips against Dean's hand, messing up Dean's attempt to get his cock out. 

'It's been four years,' Dean mutters, without thinking about it, finally getting irritated enough to just yank at Sam's jeans until the zip gives way and then he fumbles at the button until it surrenders. 'That not long enough for you?' He shoves the jeans down, takes Sam's briefs with them, and then he looks up, realising Sam's not moving, and that split-second's loss of concentration is all Sam needs to use some fucking superpowers Dean didn't realise he had and haul them both up until Dean's sitting against the headboard with his legs splayed and Sam's pinning him by one hand over his sternum, throwing his jeans somewhere behind him, pulling his shirt off and scattering the buttons everywhere. 

'That's my point,' Sam says, not even breathing hard like he hasn't just hauled Dean around like he's a sack of potatoes. He pushes in between Dean's knees until Dean's thighs are splayed open over his own, practically sitting on his lap.

Sam's kneeling, got balance and leverage. Dean's strung like a suspension bridge between the headboard and Sam's thighs. Their dicks are nearly touching. Jesus fuck. 

'It's been four years,' Sam says, 'since _this_. And now I've got you where I want you I'm gonna do this right.'

'Didn't use to be like this,' Dean mutters at him, resisting the urge to pant and whine against Sam's skin as he leans in for another kiss, body caging Dean. Fuck, when did he get this tall?

'Didn't use to have a clue what I was doing,' Sam points out, biting under the shadow of Dean's jaw. 'Didn't use to know what I wanted - what _you_ wanted. Got a bit more experience under my belt now, Dean,' he says, dragging one hand down, bypassing Dean's dick and going further down, back around. 'Think I've got a better handle on this.' He looks Dean dead in the eye, touching very, very gently somewhere Dean hasn't been touched in a long time. 'Right?'

Dean snorts, because this is getting too serious for him and fucking shouldn't be anything serious, Sam shouldn't be pulling the 'I'm so sympathetic to your troubles' good cop face at him when they're just getting back to how they should be. He bucks against Sam's fingers. 'Sure thing, cowboy,' he says. 'Show me what you got,' he adds, and he means it the same way he calls Sam a bitch and tells him to shut his cakehole but Sam flashes him a grin so bright it's like staring into the sun and Dean has a momentary flash of maybe having bitten off more than he can chew before Sam shoves himself backwards and Dean back _hard_ onto the mattress. 

'Sure thing,' he mimics. He picks up Dean's hands and moulds them round the top of the headboard. 'But you might wanna hang on, _cowboy_.'

Dean's older and heavier and he's got a fuckton more combat experience. But dammit if his skinny-ass giant of a baby brother doesn't fold him up like a piece of origami and slick him up inside so good he's shivering with it. He's two fingers deep before Dean even thinks about trying to protest. 'Fuck, Sammy,' he pants. 'When did you get so - _fuck_ \- pushy?'

'You like it,' Sam says, smug, easing his fingers out from their exploration of Dean's insides, catching against the rim and making Dean shudder, adding another squirt of lube from the tube he'd had squashed in his back pocket, fucking Boy Scout, before sliding three back in. 'You fucking love it.'

Dean doesn't dignify that with an answer, just wriggles as best he can until Sam's fingers are hitting his sweet spot - man's gotta take what he can get, right? - and he reaches for his cock.

'Uh-uh,' says Sam, batting him away. 'Mine.'

'You gonna do anything with it then?'

'If I need to. When I'm good and ready.' 

There's a noise like Sam's opening a condom wrapper. Dean groans and clenches around Sam's fingers. ' _C'mon,_ Sammy. You're driving me crazy here.'

And Sam pulls himself free, leans in close and smiles like sunshine and says, 'Good,' right into Dean's ear, just as he flips him over and knocks his knees apart and nudges into him. Dean caught the headboard again with one hand when he landed, the other arm is crunched under him keeping his face off the skeevy motel sheets, and Sam's got him jammed up so tight he's got no choice but to take it. His lubed-up, stretched hole is so, so ready for this he's having to bite his lip rather than make the stupid pleading wheezing noises that are all that's threatening to come out instead of legitimate protests about being manhandled. Because he strongly objects to that, even if he kind of wishes Sam would take it a bit faster. Goddammit, he's not going to break.

'How's this?' Sam pants.

'Gnngnnh,' Dean says, pushing hard against the headboard and hearing it creak, just to get Sam that little bit deeper, a little bit faster. Sam gets the hint and picks up the pace. He's hilted in Dean before Dean gets back with the program, thick-solid drag of Sam inside him turning his brain to mush, flicking switches that have been shut down a long time. 'Oh fuck, yes, right there, Sammy,' Dean groans, shoving back as much as he can with the lack of leverage, and Sam retorts with a hard snap of his hips. 

The headboard bangs against the wall. Dean gives up on holding it, lets his cheek get mashed into a pillow instead, bites one fist and grabs at the sheets with the other, just trying to hold on because Sam seems to get real amped up over the sound of the bed getting thumped into the wall. 

'C'mon Dean,' he growls happily. 'Let me hear you, yeah? Wanna hear you lose it for me, wanna hear you come on my cock -'

'Jesus, Sammy,' Dean chokes. Sam just shoves in harder, clamps his hands on Dean's hips. 

'Louder,' he demands, yanks Dean's hand fully away from his mouth. 'It's been four years, Dean, jerking it trying to remember what you sound like, so c'mon.' He pulls out, pushes in, thuds dully against Dean's prostate the way the bed thuds against the wall and Dean rears up, can't help it, claws at the headboard, sheet still clamped in one hand, and Sam moves with him, locks his arm around Dean's waist and fucks up into him like the change in angle is something he planned. 'Yeah,' he breathes into Dean's ear, warm and pleased. 'That's right,' and Dean realises he's been mouthing off all along. 'That's it, fuck, you're so hot when you moan for me, I missed you so much -'

'Sam,' Dean keeps saying, punched out of him on every breath. 'Sam, Sam, sweet fucking Jesus. Sammy. I can't. I _need_ -'

'Want you to come for me,' Sam says, hotly. 'Just cos I want you to, just like this, c'mon Dean, wanna watch you blow your load all over this fucking bed -'

and Dean can't hold on any longer, couldn't even if he wanted to. He's pretty sure the noise he makes can be heard in outlying counties, or maybe on the moon, but he doesn't care because Sam just clutches him harder, he shakes to pieces in Sam's arms and he's dimly aware of Sam saying, 'Fuck, fuck, Dean,' breathlessly while inside him, inside the condom, Sam's cock jerks and lets it all go. 

Dean peels his eyes open when Sam lays him down on the disaster-area the bed is now. 

'Aw, dude,' he protests. 'The wet spot?'

Sam laughs into the skin of Dean's shoulders, curling up around him like an octopus. 'Pretty sure it's all wet spot, Dean. Go to sleep.'

Dean should protest about not being able to breathe, or being too hot, all blanketed in Sam, but y'know, he's not the complaining type. Bears his troubles silently and stoically, all that jazz. He does shove until Sam's got most of the mess, though, given it's all his fault. Sam just mumbles something at him and yawns like a puppy and doesn't let go. 

In the morning they kind of sleep through their checkout and that's not unusual, so they don't worry that much about it, thinking they'll just stay the extra night, until the clerk comes pounding on their door, waving a list of written complaints and telling them they have to leave for the sake of the other patrons, who don't wish to be party to their hedonistic ways, apparently. Dean's 99% sure the other patrons are either paid to be there or paying for it, so they're only complaining because they're jealous. 

'Dammit, Sam,' Dean says when the clerk's gone. Now they have to find another motel, and after checking out Sam's college-gym-honed ass after his shower this morning Dean's pretty sure they're gonna need another bed sooner rather than later. He's got a lot of catching up to do.

'Yeah, cos that was all my fault,' Sam retorts. 'None of that was on you at all.'

'It was you that has the volume fetish,' Dean points out. 'And tried to use my fucking body to drill through the goddamn wall, which, way to pick up new tricks while I wasn't looking, college-boy.'

'You liked it,' Sam says, raising an eyebrow. 'Don't even try to deny it.'

Dean shrugs. 'Yeah, maybe you did learn something useful in school after all.'

They survey the room together, taking in the damage. The bed's a wreck, the blankets are on the floor (Dean doesn't remember even seeing them, let alone kicking them off), the tangled sheets are stained with mud and smears of blood that must have come off their clothes, and the whole place reeks of sweat and spunk. 

And in the wall there's a splintered dent that matches the headboard perfectly. 

Sam grins foxily at Dean and heads for the door. 'Learnt a lot of things while you were away, Dean. If we can find another motel room, might even show you some of them.'


End file.
